Chapter Nine.

Chapter Nine.The Caledonian Canal.The day after leaving the Clyde, we were coasting along the not very attractive-looking island of Islay, inhabited by the Macdonalds. It was often the scene of forays, which one clan was wont to make on another, in the good old days, as people delight to call them, when the ancestors of the present race were scarcely more civilised than the South Sea islanders. Though rock-girt, Islay is fertile, and a large portion has been brought under a state of cultivation.A fair breeze, with the tide in our favour, carried us through the sound between the islands of Islay and Jura, the broadest part of which is about a mile in width, and is lined by abrupt but not very high cliffs. More than a century ago, Islay received a visit from the French Admiral Thurot; and a few years later Paul Jones made a descent on the island, and captured a packet which had on board a Major Campbell, a native gentleman, who had just returned with an independence from India, the larger portion of which he unfortunately had with him in gold and jewels, of which, as may be supposed, the American privateer relieved him. In later years another American privateer, “the true-blooded Yankee,” captured a considerable number of merchant vessels at anchor in Port Charlotte.We anchored at nightfall in a deep bay at the southern end of Colonsay, called Toulgoram. A narrow strait divides that little island from the still smaller one of Oronsay.Next morning, before sailing, we pulled across the strait, which is dry at low water, and visited a ruined priory of considerable extent and tolerably entire. We saw also many other ruins of abbeys or monasteries; indeed, the monks must have been almost as numerous as the rabbits, which we saw running about in all directions. The wind still favouring us, we steered for the western end of Mull, and in a short time came in sight of its lofty cliffs; while we could see in the distance astern the peaked mountains of Jura and the island of Scarba, between which lies the whirlpool of Corryvrechan, a place we had no desire to visit. In stormy weather, when the tides rush through the passage, a regular whirlpool is formed, which would prove the destruction of any vessels attempting to pass that way. Standing on a height above it, the waters are seen to leap, and bound, and tumble, then whirling along as over a precipice, then dashed together with inconceivable impetuosity, sometimes rising in a foaming mass to a prodigious height, and then opening and forming a vast abyss, while the roar of troubled waters as they strike against the rocky shore is heard far and wide.We reached Iona in ample time to take a walk around the island. This was the island on which the so called Saint Columba lived. It is about three miles long, and one wide, and the most lofty hill is not more than four hundred feet in height. The remains show that the nunneries and monasteries Columba established were of a very rude kind. It was looked upon as a holy island, and many kings and chiefs were buried there. Macbeth was the last king of Scotland who had that honour paid him. Opposite the cathedral we saw a beautiful cross, carved in high relief. It had fallen down, but had been replaced on a basement of granite.The next place of interest before which we brought-up was the island of Staffa. We could see in the distance the islands of Coll andTiree. The latter, only about a mile and a half in circumference, rises out of the ocean to the height of about one hundred and forty-four feet. Before landing we sailed along the eastern shore, examining the wonderful caves and the fine colonnades which form its sides. One might suppose that it was rather a work of art than thrown up by Nature. The yachts were hove-to, and we pulled off to examine the caves in the boats. One is known as the Clam Shell Cave, another as the Herdsman’s Cave, and a third is denominated the Great Colonnade and Causeway. Then there comes the Boat Cave, andMackinnon’s Cave, and lastly, the most magnificent of all, Fingal’s Cave. Into this we at once rowed. I scarcely know how to describe it. On either side are lofty columns, mostly perpendicular, and remarkably regular, varying from two to four feet in diameter. The height of this wonderful cavern is sixty-six feet near the entrance, but it decreases to twenty-two feet at the further end; it is two hundred and twenty-seven feet long, and forty-two wide. At one side is a causeway formed of the remains of broken columns, upon which people can walk to the very end. We next pulled into what is called the Boat Cave, where columns are even more regular than in Fingal’s Cave, but it is much smaller. Our last visit was to Mackinnon’s Cave; its sides are perfectly smooth, it is about fifty feet high, and forty-eight broad, the roof being almost flat. We pulled on for two hundred and twenty-four feet, until we reached a beach of pebbles at the further end, when we appeared to be in a vast hall. Several places, where the tops of the columns crop up, have the appearance of a tesselated pavement.A steady breeze carried us in sight of Ardnamurchan, when, steering to the east, standing close to the sea-coast, we passed Castle Mingary, the battlemented walls of which presented no opening. A few miles further on we came to an anchor in the snug harbour of Tobermory. It is a very picturesque village, situated at the foot of hills which run round the bay. We were told that one of the ships of the Invincible Armada, the Florida, was sunk in the bay by something resembling a torpedo, manufactured by a renowned witch who lived in those days on Mull. She was instigated to the deed by the wife of Maclean of Duart. The lady had become jealous of a fair princess, who was voyaging on board the Florida, and had fallen in love with her lord. It is asserted that the Spanish damsel was a daughter of the King of Spain; and having dreamed that a young gentleman of engaging appearance had invited her to become his bride, was sailing round the world in search of him, when, on seeing Maclean, he seemed to be the creature of her fancy.Sailing from Tobermory, bound for the western coast of Skye, we passed the island of Muck, an unpleasant-sounding name. To the north is the curious island of Eig, the southern side of which is perfectly flat, but in the north rises a lofty perpendicular rock, called the Scuir of Eig. Within it is a large cavern, which was the scene of one of those atrocious acts in “the good old days” when might made right. Two hundred Macdonalds, fugitives from a superior number of Macleods, had taken refuge in the cavern, when, unfortunately for them, one of their party, having left the mark of his footsteps in the snow, their place of concealment was betrayed. The Macleods filled up the mouth of the cavern with wood and dried sea-weed, and setting it on fire, literally smoked them to death. One of the Macdonalds being connected by marriage with the Macleods, was offered permission to crawl out on his hands and knees, and to bring out four others along with him in safety; but having selected a friend hated by the Macleods, who refused to spare the man’s life, he preferred to suffer death with his clansmen than to live on without them. Until quite a late period, the bones of the ill-fated Macdonalds were still to be seen lying near the entrance. Say what we will in favour of the Highlanders, they were a fearfully savage people in those days.The part of the Highlands amid which we were sailing was the scene of many of the Pretender’s adventures. Had not Prince Charles been an excellent climber, he would not have escaped his enemies, when they were hunting him like a hare. They nearly entrapped him in one of the many rock fastnesses in which he took shelter.We passed along these coasts a continual succession of caves and wild rocks, presenting the appearance of ruined castles, Gothic arches, buttresses, towers, and gateways; others again having a curious resemblance to faces, profiles, even ships under sail.Passing the Point of Sleat, at the southern end of Skye, we sailed up the wild and grand Loch Scavaig. Rising up abruptly from the water are rugged mountains of a dark and gloomy aspect,—the bare rocks alone are seen without a particle of vegetation. Their metallic appearance arises from their being composed of a mineral called hypersthene. On either side rose sharp peaks, one called the Shouting Mountain, another the Notched Peak; while a small island at the foot of another height, called the Hill of Dispute, goes by the name of the Island of the Slippery-Step. From its appearance no one would wish to land there. Not a tree was to be seen.“The essence of savagedom!” cried Uncle Tom.“Well, grand; yes, very grand!” exclaimed Oliver; “but I’d rather not live here.”“I shouldn’t like to be on shore there during an earthquake!” cried Dick. “A fellow would chance to have his head broken if those mountains should begin to tumble about.”An artist who came here is said to have thrown away his pencil in despair; but it is still more difficult to give a description of the place in words. Having selected a spot for anchoring, with the help of a fisherman who acted as our pilot, we pulled on shore, and making our way over about four hundred yards of rock by the side of a small stream, we reached the dark fresh water Loch Coruisk, round which rose a circle of gigantic barren mountains of purple hue. On this side the sun was shining brightly, lighting up the pointed crags, while the other was thrown into the deepest shade.“I shouldn’t like to find myself here in the evening, without knowing my way out!” exclaimed Dick. “I wonder how the clouds manage to get over those tall peaks.”Dick might have wondered, for several of them are nearly three thousand feet in height; and on the topmost, called the Black Peak, probably no human foot has ever trod.“Just give a shout, sir,” said the fisherman, who, having been on board a man-of-war in his youth, spoke English. As he uttered the words he gave a loud hail, the echo coming back with wonderful distinctness. We all followed his example, and it seemed as if a thousand people were all shouting together in chorus,—the sound at length dying away, apparently many a mile off. Dick then began to laugh, and immediately a laugh came back, which set us all laughing, and a curious chorus we had, till our jaws began to ache from over-exertion.We then made our way out of this wild region, not sorry to get on board, and to dive down into the comfortable cabin of the Dolphin, where dinner was waiting us. Still, although everything was familiar round us in the confined space of the yacht’s cabin, so deeply impressed on my vision was the grand wild scene outside, that I could not help viewing it over the sides and back of the vessel, and I never for one moment lost the consciousness of where we were.We remembered that it was at Coruisk that Bruce encountered Cormack Doil. Sir Walter Scott makes him say:“A scene so wild, so rude as this,Yet so sublime in barrenness,Ne’er did my wandering footsteps press,Where’er I happ’d to roam.”At dawn next morning we left this wild bay, not without regret, though Dick declared that he felt much happier when he was once more on the open sea. We then sailed along the western coast of Skye, looking into many other places (which, if not so wild and grand, were highly picturesque), until we reached Dunvegan Loch; and making our way amid several small islands, we came to an anchor a short distance from the castle, and took to the boat. The castle stands on a rock projecting into the water, protected by a stream on one side and a moat on the other, and before conical shot were invented must have been a very strong place. Though it retains much of its ancient and imposing appearance, it is still in perfect repair, and is of great extent. It belongs to Macleod of Macleod, whose father and grandfather expended large sums in making it one of the most comfortable residences in the Western Highlands. On the side next the sea is a low wall, pierced with embrasures, while a handsome centre building is also surmounted by battlements. There are two towers, one of which the steward, who politely showed us over the castle, said was built in the ninth century, and the other was added in the thirteenth. Doctor Johnson paid this castle a visit, and was hospitably received by the laird.We were shown the drinking-horn of Sir Roderick Macleod, an ancestor of the family, and the remains of a “fairy flag,” made of stout yellow silk, which used to be unfurled when the tide of battle was turning against the Macleods, and which always had the effect of again turning it in their favour.Again getting under weigh, we sailed round the northern end of Skye, up the Sound of Raasay, between the small island of that name and Skye, to Portree. It stands on the end of a point of land, far up a deep harbour, and is a picturesque-looking place.Here we had a long discussion as to our future proceedings. It was finally settled that Uncle Tom should sail round the north of Scotland in the Dolphin, while we were to go south again, and through the Caledonian Canal, waiting for him off Fort George, at the mouth of the Moray Firth.Early in the morning we sailed with the Dolphin, to accompany her as far as the Island of Rona, to the north of Raasay, where we looked into a curious little loch, at the head of which is a farm-house. The owner—as is the case with most people residing on that shore—had been a seafaring man. He had gone away to Skye, and was expected back by his loving wife, when a furious gale arose. To light him on his way, she had been accustomed to place a large lamp in the window of the cottage, which looked down on the loch. On that night she trimmed it with double care. In vain, however, she sat and watched; hour after hour passed by as she waited, expecting to hear her husband’s cheerful voice as he came on shore, calling out to her amid the howling storm; but in vain she watched. Day dawned, and the little vessel had not reached her accustomed moorings. The next night her lamp was lighted as usual. When the storm abated, tidings came that portions of a wrecked vessel had been picked up on the shore; but she hoped against hope that it might not be her husband’s craft. Still, though he came not, she lighted the lamp. Night after night, and month after month, that bright light streamed forth from the solitary cottage on the beach; and many a storm-tossed vessel owed its safety to that unpretending beacon. At length the Scottish Commissioners of Lighthouses heard of this volunteer lighthouse. An annual sum of money was voted for its support, and the widow received a lamp with reflectors, with a supply of oil to keep her lamp burning. The commissioners paid her and her family a visit; and, though years have passed, that lamp burns as brightly as ever.As papa wished Oliver to see the Caledonian Canal, he had returned on board the Lively. We now parted from the Dolphin, saluting each other with loud cheers; and while she sailed northward, with the wind on the beam, we steered south through the broad passage which separates Raasay from the mainland.“I’ll tell you all about the northern coast and John o’ Groat’s House; and you shall give me an account of the canal, though I don’t envy you,” shouted Jack, as we parted.The wind sometimes headed us, but we saw more of the coast until, passing Applecross, we reached the Island of Scalpa. We then had a fair wind past Loch Carron to Loch Alsh, which lies between one end of Skye and the mainland. Steering due east, we ran through it, and then again had to haul up to pass through the narrow channel which separates the south end of Skye from the main.Hauling our wind, we stood through a very narrow passage, and entered Sleat Sound, a broad expanse, when once more we had Eig in sight on our starboard bow, and passed the entrance to numerous lochs, many of them, like Loch Hourn and Loch Nevish, between lofty mountains. Passing Muck and then Ardnamurchan on our port side, we entered Loch Sunart. Running by Tobermory with the wind nearly aft, we entered the Sound of Mull, which carried us into Loch Linnhe, opposite the Island of Lismore. Just opposite to us, on the south end of the island, we saw Auchindown Castle, a lofty square building on the top of a rock rising out of the sea, which was once in possession of the Bishops of Argyle and the Isles, but which is much more like a castle than an episcopal residence.Standing on, with the wind on our port beam, we ran up Loch Linnhe, passing the entrance to Loch Leven, near to which is the Pass of Glencoe, where, as every one knows, Mac Ian, the chief of the Macdonalds of Glencoe, with a number of his family and followers, was treacherously murdered by Campbell of Glen Lyon, and a party of military under his command.It was dark when we reached Fort William, at the head of Loch Linnhe, though the water still ran a long way, turning to the left and forming Loch Eil. This loch gives its name to a branch of the Camerons, to which belonged one of the most redoubtable opponents of Cromwell in the Highlands—Sir Ewan Cameron. In consequence, the Protector built a fort at Inverloch, which in King William’s reign was greatly enlarged, receiving the name of Fort William.Beyond the fort to the eastward we saw Ben Nevis, while to the north was the entrance to the Caledonian Canal. Not far off fromLoch Eil is Loch Shiel, at the head of which is the spot where, on the 19th of August, 1745, Prince Charles Edward unfurled his standard, when he made the audacious attempt to win the crown which his ancestor had forfeited. On that occasion the then Lord of Lochiel headed seven hundred of the clan Camerons, who with three hundred of the Macdonnells formed the chief part of the hapless band. Of course, they thought themselves very fine fellows, and were so, in one sense, though terribly mistaken; and had they succeeded they would have brought ruin and misery on the country. A monument was erected on the spot, some years ago, by one of the Macdonnells, and a bronze tablet on it records what took place.As soon as daylight broke we went on shore, and walked to the old castle of Inverlochy. It stands above the river, and consists of four large round towers connected by high walls, forming an extensive quadrangle. The greater part is entire; indeed, the walls being ten feet thick are calculated to stand for ages. A moat surrounds the walls. The principal entrance is on the south-east side, and directly opposite it is a sally-port. Above the gateway was a guard-room, defended by iron gates and a heavy portcullis.Below its frowning towers, the Marquis of Montrose defeated the Duke of Argyle, in the year 1645. It was just when the first rays of the sun shot athwart Ben Nevis, that, having led his men across pathless wilds covered deep with snow, he pounced down on the astonished Campbells, who were driven back in confusion, when numbers were slaughtered or drowned in the waters of Loch Eil. Of the latter, fifteen hundred men fell; while only three of Montrose’s soldiers were killed, and one officer wounded.As soon as we got back we made sail; and no other vessel impeding us, we entered the basin of Bannavie, from which a series of eight locks, called Neptune’s Staircase, raised us to the level of Loch Lochy. It was rather tiresome, though at the same time interesting work, to see the yacht lifted gradually up step by step, while the water rushed down from the lock above to raise that on which we floated to its own level. Whoever first thought of such a contrivance deserves great credit.As the wind was perfectly fair, we sailed along the canal for about eight miles without any impediment. It is deep and broad, and would allow a very much larger vessel than our little yacht to pass through it. It was on the banks of the river Lochy that a body of King George’s soldiers first encountered the Macdonnells of Glengarry, who were up in arms for Charles Edward, when the former, being greatly overpowered, had to yield themselves prisoners.Soon after entering the lake, we came off the house of Achnacarry, the mansion of Lochiel, on the northern side. The mountains on the south side extended nearly the whole distance of the lake without any break, while those on the other are rent by numerous gullies. The ground, though covered with heather, had few trees to ornament it. We were quite sorry when, in about an hour and a half, we had again to enter the canal, which quickly carried us into the small, pretty Loch Oich. We passed two or three islets decked with trees, which greatly embellish them. On the north side the mountains of Glengarry shot up in a succession of high and bold peaks. Below them is the castle of Invergarry, standing on a rock overlooking the waters of the loch.The last Glengarry who claimed to be the Lord of the Isles, instead of Lord Macdonald of Sleat, resided here, and did his utmost to keep up the recollection of former days by his mode of life. On his death his property was bought by Lord Ward.We passed a curious monument raised by the last Glengarry over what is known as the “Well of the Seven Heads.” It consists of a pyramid, with seven human heads carved in stone placed on the summit. The story is that two sons of Keppoch, a branch of the Macdonalds, having been sent to be educated in France, their affairs were managed by seven brothers, who, on the return of the young men, murdered them, in order that they might continue in possession of their property. The old family bard, discovering the bloody act, applied to the Glengarry of those days for assistance; and having been furnished with a body of men, caught the assassins, and cut off their heads, which, after having washed in the spring, he presented to the noble chief in Glengarry Castle.Just before leaving Loch Oich we passed Aberchalder, an unpretending-looking house, where the forces of Prince Charles assembled before crossing Corryarrick. We soon reached Fort Augustus, when we descended by some locks into Loch Ness, where, on account of the depth of water, we had to anchor close to the shore, with warps made fast to some trees, to prevent our drifting away. As there was nothing to see at Fort Augustus, the garrison having been removed, we did not go on shore.At an early hour the next morning we got under weigh, and glided down Loch Ness, which is twenty-four miles long, and about a mile and a quarter broad, although it is narrower in some places. The depth is very great, in some parts one hundred and thirty fathoms. In consequence of this the water seldom freezes in the loch. The rugged and heath-covered mountains rise on either side to the height of about a thousand feet; and frequently we saw growing on them forests of oak, ash, elm, and other trees, with a thick underwood of hazel and holly intermingled with a profusion of wild roses.About midway we passed the lofty dome of Mealfourvournie, rising in solitary grandeur to the height of upwards of four thousand feet. Here there were tracts of cultivated ground; and in the openings of Glen Urquhart and Glenmoriston we came in sight of fields and substantial-looking houses. A few miles further we passed under a magnificent precipice crowned by pines. Not far distant we came to the House of Foyers, where we landed and hurried up the glen to the falls. We got down to the bottom of the perpendicular cliffs, over which we could see a large volume of water rushing with headlong force and speed, bubbling, foaming, and roaring into the channel which leads to the loch. Above us was a bridge thrown across the chasm, while the mountain sides were clothed with graceful birch and other trees. We had brought a copy of Burns, whose lines on the subject begin:“Among the heathy hills and ragged woodsThe roaring Foyers pours his mossy floods;Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds,Where through a shapeless breach his stream resounds.”which describe the falls far better than I can do.Hurrying back, we continued our voyage. We passed the mouth of the deep denied Inverfarigaig, with the black rock resembling a ruin above it, and further on Urquhart Castle, built on a detached rock overlooking the loch, the most conspicuous object being a strong square keep, surmounted by four turrets. The banks of the loch now appeared far more cultivated than at the other end. Sailing through little Loch Dochfour, we again entered the canal, which runs down into Loch Beauly; while the river Ness, which we had on our right side, falls into the Moray Firth, close to Inverness, which stands on a plain about a mile off.It was curious to be looking from the deck of our yacht down on the loch so far below us, while we could see on either side of the town the far-famed battlefield of Culloden, where Prince Charles and his hapless followers were so signally defeated by the Duke of Cumberland.Descending the locks at Muirtown, we could see in the far distance, guarding the entrance to the upper part of the mouth of the Moray Firth, the walls of Fort George extending out into the blue water. On reaching the ocean level, we at once made sail, standing for Inverness. By the time we dropped our anchor it was dark, so that we did not go on shore until the following morning. We then took a ramble round the town.It stands on both sides of the river, across which a handsome stone bridge is thrown, but the finer portion is on the east side. The monasteries and churches were mostly knocked to pieces by Oliver Cromwell; but a good many fine buildings have been erected of late years, one of the most important of which is the Academy.Inverness has always been a place of importance, and from its situation has a considerable trade. It was looked upon also as the capital of the north of Scotland. The inhabitants were staunch Jacobites, and very much inclined to be lawless, though at the present day they are as peaceably disposed as any in the country. Expecting to encounter stalwart Highlanders in kilts, with dirks by their sides, we were disappointed to meet only staid-looking burghers and labouring men, in the ordinary dress of the present day.There was a castle, built by Cromwell to overawe the turbulent inhabitants, but it was pulled down, and the inhabitants had erected many of their houses with the materials. We, however, took a walk over the ramparts, which still remain. Here Queen Mary had her quarters for some time, protected by the clansmen of Frazer, Mackenzie, Munroe, and others, who kept the garrison of the castle in awe.Far more interesting is an account we obtained of the Caledonian Canal, which may truly be said to make an island of Sutherland, Caithness, Cromarty, Rosshire, and a part of Inverness. The canal was designed by Watt, as far back as 1773; but the present work was not commenced until the year 1804, when Telford was directed to make a report on the subject. By his plan the canal was to be one hundred and ten feet wide at the surface and fifty feet at the bottom, and the depth of water twenty feet; so that a thirty-two gun frigate of that day, fully equipped and laden with stores, could pass through it. The works, however, were carried out on more moderate proportions. There are twenty-eight locks, each one hundred and seventy feet long and forty feet wide, with an average lift of eight feet. Some of the lock gates are of timber, and others are of cast-iron, sheathed with pine planking. The summit level is in Loch Oich, into which pour a number of streams, supplying an abundance of water for both sides. It stands exactly one hundred feet above high-water mark at Inverness. The extreme length from sea to sea is sixty and a half miles; and so direct is the continuity of the lakes that a line drawn across from point to point would only exceed the distance by rather more than three miles. There are twenty-two miles of canal cutting, and thirty-eight and a half miles of lake water is made available for the canal.We found passing through the lakes the pleasantest part of the voyage. We might have been many days doing the distance, had we not had a favourable breeze. The wind changed directly after we reached Inverness, of which we were very glad, as it gave us some hopes of soon meeting the Dolphin, which we feared must have been detained off John o’ Groat’s House.We made several trips down to Fort George, to look out for the Dolphin. At length one evening, having stood further down the Firth and looking into Cromarty, made classic by having been the scene of many of Hugh Miller’s rambles, we caught sight of a small white sail, shining brightly in the rays of the setting sun. Papa, taking the glass, looked steadily at her, and then, to our great satisfaction, declared his belief that she was the Dolphin. We immediately tacked towards her, and in a short time heard Uncle Tom’s cheerful hail across the water. We immediately hove-to, and the Dolphin doing the same, papa and I pulled on board her. They were in good spirits, although they had begun to think that they should never get round Duncansby Head, which is close to John o’ Groat’s House, until the wind drawing once more from the westward, they had reached Wick, the great resort of fishing vessels. After this they had a dead beat until they sighted Tarbet-ness Lighthouse, on the northern side of the Moray Firth. Their further adventures they kept for another day.“I am glad to get back again to you,” exclaimed Dick; “it’s dull work sailing all alone. I confess that I sometimes thought you would never get through overland; for by no other way, it seems to me, could you have come, except along those little trout ponds I saw marked on the map.”Dick was not a little astonished when we told him the size of the canal and its locks, and that a vessel very much larger than the Dolphin could have got through with equal ease.We had brought an abundance of fresh provisions for both yachts, and were glad to find that Uncle Tom did not wish to go to Inverness; and we accordingly shaped our course for Kinnaird’s Head, not intending to touch at any place on the Scotch coast until we reached Aberdeen.

The day after leaving the Clyde, we were coasting along the not very attractive-looking island of Islay, inhabited by the Macdonalds. It was often the scene of forays, which one clan was wont to make on another, in the good old days, as people delight to call them, when the ancestors of the present race were scarcely more civilised than the South Sea islanders. Though rock-girt, Islay is fertile, and a large portion has been brought under a state of cultivation.

A fair breeze, with the tide in our favour, carried us through the sound between the islands of Islay and Jura, the broadest part of which is about a mile in width, and is lined by abrupt but not very high cliffs. More than a century ago, Islay received a visit from the French Admiral Thurot; and a few years later Paul Jones made a descent on the island, and captured a packet which had on board a Major Campbell, a native gentleman, who had just returned with an independence from India, the larger portion of which he unfortunately had with him in gold and jewels, of which, as may be supposed, the American privateer relieved him. In later years another American privateer, “the true-blooded Yankee,” captured a considerable number of merchant vessels at anchor in Port Charlotte.

We anchored at nightfall in a deep bay at the southern end of Colonsay, called Toulgoram. A narrow strait divides that little island from the still smaller one of Oronsay.

Next morning, before sailing, we pulled across the strait, which is dry at low water, and visited a ruined priory of considerable extent and tolerably entire. We saw also many other ruins of abbeys or monasteries; indeed, the monks must have been almost as numerous as the rabbits, which we saw running about in all directions. The wind still favouring us, we steered for the western end of Mull, and in a short time came in sight of its lofty cliffs; while we could see in the distance astern the peaked mountains of Jura and the island of Scarba, between which lies the whirlpool of Corryvrechan, a place we had no desire to visit. In stormy weather, when the tides rush through the passage, a regular whirlpool is formed, which would prove the destruction of any vessels attempting to pass that way. Standing on a height above it, the waters are seen to leap, and bound, and tumble, then whirling along as over a precipice, then dashed together with inconceivable impetuosity, sometimes rising in a foaming mass to a prodigious height, and then opening and forming a vast abyss, while the roar of troubled waters as they strike against the rocky shore is heard far and wide.

We reached Iona in ample time to take a walk around the island. This was the island on which the so called Saint Columba lived. It is about three miles long, and one wide, and the most lofty hill is not more than four hundred feet in height. The remains show that the nunneries and monasteries Columba established were of a very rude kind. It was looked upon as a holy island, and many kings and chiefs were buried there. Macbeth was the last king of Scotland who had that honour paid him. Opposite the cathedral we saw a beautiful cross, carved in high relief. It had fallen down, but had been replaced on a basement of granite.

The next place of interest before which we brought-up was the island of Staffa. We could see in the distance the islands of Coll andTiree. The latter, only about a mile and a half in circumference, rises out of the ocean to the height of about one hundred and forty-four feet. Before landing we sailed along the eastern shore, examining the wonderful caves and the fine colonnades which form its sides. One might suppose that it was rather a work of art than thrown up by Nature. The yachts were hove-to, and we pulled off to examine the caves in the boats. One is known as the Clam Shell Cave, another as the Herdsman’s Cave, and a third is denominated the Great Colonnade and Causeway. Then there comes the Boat Cave, andMackinnon’s Cave, and lastly, the most magnificent of all, Fingal’s Cave. Into this we at once rowed. I scarcely know how to describe it. On either side are lofty columns, mostly perpendicular, and remarkably regular, varying from two to four feet in diameter. The height of this wonderful cavern is sixty-six feet near the entrance, but it decreases to twenty-two feet at the further end; it is two hundred and twenty-seven feet long, and forty-two wide. At one side is a causeway formed of the remains of broken columns, upon which people can walk to the very end. We next pulled into what is called the Boat Cave, where columns are even more regular than in Fingal’s Cave, but it is much smaller. Our last visit was to Mackinnon’s Cave; its sides are perfectly smooth, it is about fifty feet high, and forty-eight broad, the roof being almost flat. We pulled on for two hundred and twenty-four feet, until we reached a beach of pebbles at the further end, when we appeared to be in a vast hall. Several places, where the tops of the columns crop up, have the appearance of a tesselated pavement.

A steady breeze carried us in sight of Ardnamurchan, when, steering to the east, standing close to the sea-coast, we passed Castle Mingary, the battlemented walls of which presented no opening. A few miles further on we came to an anchor in the snug harbour of Tobermory. It is a very picturesque village, situated at the foot of hills which run round the bay. We were told that one of the ships of the Invincible Armada, the Florida, was sunk in the bay by something resembling a torpedo, manufactured by a renowned witch who lived in those days on Mull. She was instigated to the deed by the wife of Maclean of Duart. The lady had become jealous of a fair princess, who was voyaging on board the Florida, and had fallen in love with her lord. It is asserted that the Spanish damsel was a daughter of the King of Spain; and having dreamed that a young gentleman of engaging appearance had invited her to become his bride, was sailing round the world in search of him, when, on seeing Maclean, he seemed to be the creature of her fancy.

Sailing from Tobermory, bound for the western coast of Skye, we passed the island of Muck, an unpleasant-sounding name. To the north is the curious island of Eig, the southern side of which is perfectly flat, but in the north rises a lofty perpendicular rock, called the Scuir of Eig. Within it is a large cavern, which was the scene of one of those atrocious acts in “the good old days” when might made right. Two hundred Macdonalds, fugitives from a superior number of Macleods, had taken refuge in the cavern, when, unfortunately for them, one of their party, having left the mark of his footsteps in the snow, their place of concealment was betrayed. The Macleods filled up the mouth of the cavern with wood and dried sea-weed, and setting it on fire, literally smoked them to death. One of the Macdonalds being connected by marriage with the Macleods, was offered permission to crawl out on his hands and knees, and to bring out four others along with him in safety; but having selected a friend hated by the Macleods, who refused to spare the man’s life, he preferred to suffer death with his clansmen than to live on without them. Until quite a late period, the bones of the ill-fated Macdonalds were still to be seen lying near the entrance. Say what we will in favour of the Highlanders, they were a fearfully savage people in those days.

The part of the Highlands amid which we were sailing was the scene of many of the Pretender’s adventures. Had not Prince Charles been an excellent climber, he would not have escaped his enemies, when they were hunting him like a hare. They nearly entrapped him in one of the many rock fastnesses in which he took shelter.

We passed along these coasts a continual succession of caves and wild rocks, presenting the appearance of ruined castles, Gothic arches, buttresses, towers, and gateways; others again having a curious resemblance to faces, profiles, even ships under sail.

Passing the Point of Sleat, at the southern end of Skye, we sailed up the wild and grand Loch Scavaig. Rising up abruptly from the water are rugged mountains of a dark and gloomy aspect,—the bare rocks alone are seen without a particle of vegetation. Their metallic appearance arises from their being composed of a mineral called hypersthene. On either side rose sharp peaks, one called the Shouting Mountain, another the Notched Peak; while a small island at the foot of another height, called the Hill of Dispute, goes by the name of the Island of the Slippery-Step. From its appearance no one would wish to land there. Not a tree was to be seen.

“The essence of savagedom!” cried Uncle Tom.

“Well, grand; yes, very grand!” exclaimed Oliver; “but I’d rather not live here.”

“I shouldn’t like to be on shore there during an earthquake!” cried Dick. “A fellow would chance to have his head broken if those mountains should begin to tumble about.”

An artist who came here is said to have thrown away his pencil in despair; but it is still more difficult to give a description of the place in words. Having selected a spot for anchoring, with the help of a fisherman who acted as our pilot, we pulled on shore, and making our way over about four hundred yards of rock by the side of a small stream, we reached the dark fresh water Loch Coruisk, round which rose a circle of gigantic barren mountains of purple hue. On this side the sun was shining brightly, lighting up the pointed crags, while the other was thrown into the deepest shade.

“I shouldn’t like to find myself here in the evening, without knowing my way out!” exclaimed Dick. “I wonder how the clouds manage to get over those tall peaks.”

Dick might have wondered, for several of them are nearly three thousand feet in height; and on the topmost, called the Black Peak, probably no human foot has ever trod.

“Just give a shout, sir,” said the fisherman, who, having been on board a man-of-war in his youth, spoke English. As he uttered the words he gave a loud hail, the echo coming back with wonderful distinctness. We all followed his example, and it seemed as if a thousand people were all shouting together in chorus,—the sound at length dying away, apparently many a mile off. Dick then began to laugh, and immediately a laugh came back, which set us all laughing, and a curious chorus we had, till our jaws began to ache from over-exertion.

We then made our way out of this wild region, not sorry to get on board, and to dive down into the comfortable cabin of the Dolphin, where dinner was waiting us. Still, although everything was familiar round us in the confined space of the yacht’s cabin, so deeply impressed on my vision was the grand wild scene outside, that I could not help viewing it over the sides and back of the vessel, and I never for one moment lost the consciousness of where we were.

We remembered that it was at Coruisk that Bruce encountered Cormack Doil. Sir Walter Scott makes him say:

“A scene so wild, so rude as this,Yet so sublime in barrenness,Ne’er did my wandering footsteps press,Where’er I happ’d to roam.”

“A scene so wild, so rude as this,Yet so sublime in barrenness,Ne’er did my wandering footsteps press,Where’er I happ’d to roam.”

At dawn next morning we left this wild bay, not without regret, though Dick declared that he felt much happier when he was once more on the open sea. We then sailed along the western coast of Skye, looking into many other places (which, if not so wild and grand, were highly picturesque), until we reached Dunvegan Loch; and making our way amid several small islands, we came to an anchor a short distance from the castle, and took to the boat. The castle stands on a rock projecting into the water, protected by a stream on one side and a moat on the other, and before conical shot were invented must have been a very strong place. Though it retains much of its ancient and imposing appearance, it is still in perfect repair, and is of great extent. It belongs to Macleod of Macleod, whose father and grandfather expended large sums in making it one of the most comfortable residences in the Western Highlands. On the side next the sea is a low wall, pierced with embrasures, while a handsome centre building is also surmounted by battlements. There are two towers, one of which the steward, who politely showed us over the castle, said was built in the ninth century, and the other was added in the thirteenth. Doctor Johnson paid this castle a visit, and was hospitably received by the laird.

We were shown the drinking-horn of Sir Roderick Macleod, an ancestor of the family, and the remains of a “fairy flag,” made of stout yellow silk, which used to be unfurled when the tide of battle was turning against the Macleods, and which always had the effect of again turning it in their favour.

Again getting under weigh, we sailed round the northern end of Skye, up the Sound of Raasay, between the small island of that name and Skye, to Portree. It stands on the end of a point of land, far up a deep harbour, and is a picturesque-looking place.

Here we had a long discussion as to our future proceedings. It was finally settled that Uncle Tom should sail round the north of Scotland in the Dolphin, while we were to go south again, and through the Caledonian Canal, waiting for him off Fort George, at the mouth of the Moray Firth.

Early in the morning we sailed with the Dolphin, to accompany her as far as the Island of Rona, to the north of Raasay, where we looked into a curious little loch, at the head of which is a farm-house. The owner—as is the case with most people residing on that shore—had been a seafaring man. He had gone away to Skye, and was expected back by his loving wife, when a furious gale arose. To light him on his way, she had been accustomed to place a large lamp in the window of the cottage, which looked down on the loch. On that night she trimmed it with double care. In vain, however, she sat and watched; hour after hour passed by as she waited, expecting to hear her husband’s cheerful voice as he came on shore, calling out to her amid the howling storm; but in vain she watched. Day dawned, and the little vessel had not reached her accustomed moorings. The next night her lamp was lighted as usual. When the storm abated, tidings came that portions of a wrecked vessel had been picked up on the shore; but she hoped against hope that it might not be her husband’s craft. Still, though he came not, she lighted the lamp. Night after night, and month after month, that bright light streamed forth from the solitary cottage on the beach; and many a storm-tossed vessel owed its safety to that unpretending beacon. At length the Scottish Commissioners of Lighthouses heard of this volunteer lighthouse. An annual sum of money was voted for its support, and the widow received a lamp with reflectors, with a supply of oil to keep her lamp burning. The commissioners paid her and her family a visit; and, though years have passed, that lamp burns as brightly as ever.

As papa wished Oliver to see the Caledonian Canal, he had returned on board the Lively. We now parted from the Dolphin, saluting each other with loud cheers; and while she sailed northward, with the wind on the beam, we steered south through the broad passage which separates Raasay from the mainland.

“I’ll tell you all about the northern coast and John o’ Groat’s House; and you shall give me an account of the canal, though I don’t envy you,” shouted Jack, as we parted.

The wind sometimes headed us, but we saw more of the coast until, passing Applecross, we reached the Island of Scalpa. We then had a fair wind past Loch Carron to Loch Alsh, which lies between one end of Skye and the mainland. Steering due east, we ran through it, and then again had to haul up to pass through the narrow channel which separates the south end of Skye from the main.

Hauling our wind, we stood through a very narrow passage, and entered Sleat Sound, a broad expanse, when once more we had Eig in sight on our starboard bow, and passed the entrance to numerous lochs, many of them, like Loch Hourn and Loch Nevish, between lofty mountains. Passing Muck and then Ardnamurchan on our port side, we entered Loch Sunart. Running by Tobermory with the wind nearly aft, we entered the Sound of Mull, which carried us into Loch Linnhe, opposite the Island of Lismore. Just opposite to us, on the south end of the island, we saw Auchindown Castle, a lofty square building on the top of a rock rising out of the sea, which was once in possession of the Bishops of Argyle and the Isles, but which is much more like a castle than an episcopal residence.

Standing on, with the wind on our port beam, we ran up Loch Linnhe, passing the entrance to Loch Leven, near to which is the Pass of Glencoe, where, as every one knows, Mac Ian, the chief of the Macdonalds of Glencoe, with a number of his family and followers, was treacherously murdered by Campbell of Glen Lyon, and a party of military under his command.

It was dark when we reached Fort William, at the head of Loch Linnhe, though the water still ran a long way, turning to the left and forming Loch Eil. This loch gives its name to a branch of the Camerons, to which belonged one of the most redoubtable opponents of Cromwell in the Highlands—Sir Ewan Cameron. In consequence, the Protector built a fort at Inverloch, which in King William’s reign was greatly enlarged, receiving the name of Fort William.

Beyond the fort to the eastward we saw Ben Nevis, while to the north was the entrance to the Caledonian Canal. Not far off fromLoch Eil is Loch Shiel, at the head of which is the spot where, on the 19th of August, 1745, Prince Charles Edward unfurled his standard, when he made the audacious attempt to win the crown which his ancestor had forfeited. On that occasion the then Lord of Lochiel headed seven hundred of the clan Camerons, who with three hundred of the Macdonnells formed the chief part of the hapless band. Of course, they thought themselves very fine fellows, and were so, in one sense, though terribly mistaken; and had they succeeded they would have brought ruin and misery on the country. A monument was erected on the spot, some years ago, by one of the Macdonnells, and a bronze tablet on it records what took place.

As soon as daylight broke we went on shore, and walked to the old castle of Inverlochy. It stands above the river, and consists of four large round towers connected by high walls, forming an extensive quadrangle. The greater part is entire; indeed, the walls being ten feet thick are calculated to stand for ages. A moat surrounds the walls. The principal entrance is on the south-east side, and directly opposite it is a sally-port. Above the gateway was a guard-room, defended by iron gates and a heavy portcullis.

Below its frowning towers, the Marquis of Montrose defeated the Duke of Argyle, in the year 1645. It was just when the first rays of the sun shot athwart Ben Nevis, that, having led his men across pathless wilds covered deep with snow, he pounced down on the astonished Campbells, who were driven back in confusion, when numbers were slaughtered or drowned in the waters of Loch Eil. Of the latter, fifteen hundred men fell; while only three of Montrose’s soldiers were killed, and one officer wounded.

As soon as we got back we made sail; and no other vessel impeding us, we entered the basin of Bannavie, from which a series of eight locks, called Neptune’s Staircase, raised us to the level of Loch Lochy. It was rather tiresome, though at the same time interesting work, to see the yacht lifted gradually up step by step, while the water rushed down from the lock above to raise that on which we floated to its own level. Whoever first thought of such a contrivance deserves great credit.

As the wind was perfectly fair, we sailed along the canal for about eight miles without any impediment. It is deep and broad, and would allow a very much larger vessel than our little yacht to pass through it. It was on the banks of the river Lochy that a body of King George’s soldiers first encountered the Macdonnells of Glengarry, who were up in arms for Charles Edward, when the former, being greatly overpowered, had to yield themselves prisoners.

Soon after entering the lake, we came off the house of Achnacarry, the mansion of Lochiel, on the northern side. The mountains on the south side extended nearly the whole distance of the lake without any break, while those on the other are rent by numerous gullies. The ground, though covered with heather, had few trees to ornament it. We were quite sorry when, in about an hour and a half, we had again to enter the canal, which quickly carried us into the small, pretty Loch Oich. We passed two or three islets decked with trees, which greatly embellish them. On the north side the mountains of Glengarry shot up in a succession of high and bold peaks. Below them is the castle of Invergarry, standing on a rock overlooking the waters of the loch.

The last Glengarry who claimed to be the Lord of the Isles, instead of Lord Macdonald of Sleat, resided here, and did his utmost to keep up the recollection of former days by his mode of life. On his death his property was bought by Lord Ward.

We passed a curious monument raised by the last Glengarry over what is known as the “Well of the Seven Heads.” It consists of a pyramid, with seven human heads carved in stone placed on the summit. The story is that two sons of Keppoch, a branch of the Macdonalds, having been sent to be educated in France, their affairs were managed by seven brothers, who, on the return of the young men, murdered them, in order that they might continue in possession of their property. The old family bard, discovering the bloody act, applied to the Glengarry of those days for assistance; and having been furnished with a body of men, caught the assassins, and cut off their heads, which, after having washed in the spring, he presented to the noble chief in Glengarry Castle.

Just before leaving Loch Oich we passed Aberchalder, an unpretending-looking house, where the forces of Prince Charles assembled before crossing Corryarrick. We soon reached Fort Augustus, when we descended by some locks into Loch Ness, where, on account of the depth of water, we had to anchor close to the shore, with warps made fast to some trees, to prevent our drifting away. As there was nothing to see at Fort Augustus, the garrison having been removed, we did not go on shore.

At an early hour the next morning we got under weigh, and glided down Loch Ness, which is twenty-four miles long, and about a mile and a quarter broad, although it is narrower in some places. The depth is very great, in some parts one hundred and thirty fathoms. In consequence of this the water seldom freezes in the loch. The rugged and heath-covered mountains rise on either side to the height of about a thousand feet; and frequently we saw growing on them forests of oak, ash, elm, and other trees, with a thick underwood of hazel and holly intermingled with a profusion of wild roses.

About midway we passed the lofty dome of Mealfourvournie, rising in solitary grandeur to the height of upwards of four thousand feet. Here there were tracts of cultivated ground; and in the openings of Glen Urquhart and Glenmoriston we came in sight of fields and substantial-looking houses. A few miles further we passed under a magnificent precipice crowned by pines. Not far distant we came to the House of Foyers, where we landed and hurried up the glen to the falls. We got down to the bottom of the perpendicular cliffs, over which we could see a large volume of water rushing with headlong force and speed, bubbling, foaming, and roaring into the channel which leads to the loch. Above us was a bridge thrown across the chasm, while the mountain sides were clothed with graceful birch and other trees. We had brought a copy of Burns, whose lines on the subject begin:

“Among the heathy hills and ragged woodsThe roaring Foyers pours his mossy floods;Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds,Where through a shapeless breach his stream resounds.”

“Among the heathy hills and ragged woodsThe roaring Foyers pours his mossy floods;Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds,Where through a shapeless breach his stream resounds.”

which describe the falls far better than I can do.

Hurrying back, we continued our voyage. We passed the mouth of the deep denied Inverfarigaig, with the black rock resembling a ruin above it, and further on Urquhart Castle, built on a detached rock overlooking the loch, the most conspicuous object being a strong square keep, surmounted by four turrets. The banks of the loch now appeared far more cultivated than at the other end. Sailing through little Loch Dochfour, we again entered the canal, which runs down into Loch Beauly; while the river Ness, which we had on our right side, falls into the Moray Firth, close to Inverness, which stands on a plain about a mile off.

It was curious to be looking from the deck of our yacht down on the loch so far below us, while we could see on either side of the town the far-famed battlefield of Culloden, where Prince Charles and his hapless followers were so signally defeated by the Duke of Cumberland.

Descending the locks at Muirtown, we could see in the far distance, guarding the entrance to the upper part of the mouth of the Moray Firth, the walls of Fort George extending out into the blue water. On reaching the ocean level, we at once made sail, standing for Inverness. By the time we dropped our anchor it was dark, so that we did not go on shore until the following morning. We then took a ramble round the town.

It stands on both sides of the river, across which a handsome stone bridge is thrown, but the finer portion is on the east side. The monasteries and churches were mostly knocked to pieces by Oliver Cromwell; but a good many fine buildings have been erected of late years, one of the most important of which is the Academy.

Inverness has always been a place of importance, and from its situation has a considerable trade. It was looked upon also as the capital of the north of Scotland. The inhabitants were staunch Jacobites, and very much inclined to be lawless, though at the present day they are as peaceably disposed as any in the country. Expecting to encounter stalwart Highlanders in kilts, with dirks by their sides, we were disappointed to meet only staid-looking burghers and labouring men, in the ordinary dress of the present day.

There was a castle, built by Cromwell to overawe the turbulent inhabitants, but it was pulled down, and the inhabitants had erected many of their houses with the materials. We, however, took a walk over the ramparts, which still remain. Here Queen Mary had her quarters for some time, protected by the clansmen of Frazer, Mackenzie, Munroe, and others, who kept the garrison of the castle in awe.

Far more interesting is an account we obtained of the Caledonian Canal, which may truly be said to make an island of Sutherland, Caithness, Cromarty, Rosshire, and a part of Inverness. The canal was designed by Watt, as far back as 1773; but the present work was not commenced until the year 1804, when Telford was directed to make a report on the subject. By his plan the canal was to be one hundred and ten feet wide at the surface and fifty feet at the bottom, and the depth of water twenty feet; so that a thirty-two gun frigate of that day, fully equipped and laden with stores, could pass through it. The works, however, were carried out on more moderate proportions. There are twenty-eight locks, each one hundred and seventy feet long and forty feet wide, with an average lift of eight feet. Some of the lock gates are of timber, and others are of cast-iron, sheathed with pine planking. The summit level is in Loch Oich, into which pour a number of streams, supplying an abundance of water for both sides. It stands exactly one hundred feet above high-water mark at Inverness. The extreme length from sea to sea is sixty and a half miles; and so direct is the continuity of the lakes that a line drawn across from point to point would only exceed the distance by rather more than three miles. There are twenty-two miles of canal cutting, and thirty-eight and a half miles of lake water is made available for the canal.

We found passing through the lakes the pleasantest part of the voyage. We might have been many days doing the distance, had we not had a favourable breeze. The wind changed directly after we reached Inverness, of which we were very glad, as it gave us some hopes of soon meeting the Dolphin, which we feared must have been detained off John o’ Groat’s House.

We made several trips down to Fort George, to look out for the Dolphin. At length one evening, having stood further down the Firth and looking into Cromarty, made classic by having been the scene of many of Hugh Miller’s rambles, we caught sight of a small white sail, shining brightly in the rays of the setting sun. Papa, taking the glass, looked steadily at her, and then, to our great satisfaction, declared his belief that she was the Dolphin. We immediately tacked towards her, and in a short time heard Uncle Tom’s cheerful hail across the water. We immediately hove-to, and the Dolphin doing the same, papa and I pulled on board her. They were in good spirits, although they had begun to think that they should never get round Duncansby Head, which is close to John o’ Groat’s House, until the wind drawing once more from the westward, they had reached Wick, the great resort of fishing vessels. After this they had a dead beat until they sighted Tarbet-ness Lighthouse, on the northern side of the Moray Firth. Their further adventures they kept for another day.

“I am glad to get back again to you,” exclaimed Dick; “it’s dull work sailing all alone. I confess that I sometimes thought you would never get through overland; for by no other way, it seems to me, could you have come, except along those little trout ponds I saw marked on the map.”

Dick was not a little astonished when we told him the size of the canal and its locks, and that a vessel very much larger than the Dolphin could have got through with equal ease.

We had brought an abundance of fresh provisions for both yachts, and were glad to find that Uncle Tom did not wish to go to Inverness; and we accordingly shaped our course for Kinnaird’s Head, not intending to touch at any place on the Scotch coast until we reached Aberdeen.

Chapter Ten.Another Wreck.As we sailed down the Moray Firth with a northerly wind, which enabled us to stand close in shore, the water being perfectly smooth, we passed numerous headlands, the names of which we learned from the chart. After the mountainous scenery amid which we had been sailing, the shore looked flat and uninteresting.I had thus plenty of time to attend to little Nat, who was fast becoming very dear to all of us. We looked forward with regret to the time when he might be sent away to join his friends, should they be found. He had learned to walk the deck in true nautical style; and in his sailor’s suit, with his broad-brimmed straw hat, he looked every inch a young seaman. He was generally in capital spirits, apparently forgetting his loss; but if any allusion brought back to his remembrance his father, mother, or Aunt Fanny, his brothers and sisters, the tears sprang to his eyes, and he looked grave and sad.Happily, however, a cheerful word brought him back to his usual mood, and he became as merry as ever.“Do you know, Harry,” he said to me one day, “I intend to be a sailor. I should like to have just such a vessel as this, and cruise about the world that you tell me is round, though I cannot make it out; still, as you say so, I am sure it is.”I pointed to the top-gallant sails of a vessel on which the sun was shining brightly,—“Now, watch that sail, and in a short time you will see her topsails, and then her courses, and then the hull. If the world was not round, we should see them all at once, just as clearly as we now see the top-gallant sails.”As I spoke I took up a large ball of spun yarn, and placing a splinter on it, I advanced the piece of wood gradually until he saw the whole of it. “Now, this splinter represents that ship,” I said, pointing to it. “As we also are moving towards her, we shall soon see all her sails and her hull.”Nat kept watching the ship with intense interest; and although summoned to luncheon, he begged that he might have something brought up to him, so that he could watch her hull come in sight. This in a short time happened, when he clapped his hands and shouted—“Now I know that the world is round; but I thought it was so very big it could make no difference.”“Well,” exclaimed Dick, who had been listening to my remark, “I never knew before how it was people guessed that the world was round. I saw ships’ sails popping up out of the ocean, but had not any idea how it was, and did not like to ask.”“There you showed your want of wisdom,” observed papa; “you should have tried to think the matter out, or inquired.”The wind continued to favour us, drawing gradually to the westward. We sighted a red light on Kinnaird’s Head, which, as we got more to the eastward, changed to a bright colour. Beyond it was Fraserburgh. By hauling our wind we were able to steer for Rathay Head. Near it we caught sight of Inverugie Castle. We gave a wide berth to the head, from which a dangerous reef of rocks run out; for though the ocean was tolerably calm, we could see the water breaking over them.We were now hoping, as the wind was off shore, to stand due south for Aberdeen, which we were all anxious to see. We had sighted Slaines Castle, standing out solitary and grand on the very edge of the crag, when the wind suddenly backed round to the southward, and in a short time began to blow very hard. Dark clouds, which had been gathering thickly in the horizon to the south-east, came careering on over the blue sky. In spite of the heavy sea which was getting up, we held our course, standing away from the land, intending to tack again when we could to fetch Aberdeen. By the way the Dolphin was tumbling about I could readily understand how we must have appeared to her. Dick began to show signs of being far from happy, and Nat’s cheerfulness entirely left him. Papa sent him down below, and told him to turn in. Dick, however, braved it out, but grew more and more yellow and woebegone.“This won’t do,” observed papa; “it’s fortunate that we have a port under our lee. Up helm, ease away the main sheet. We’ll let the Dolphin know that we are running for Peterhead.”The Dolphin followed our example; and away we went, careering on before the fast-rising seas. Very glad we were that we had so fine a harbour to run for. The gale blew harder and harder, and the waves looked as if every instant they would engulf us; for we were now exposed to the whole roll of the German Ocean. On sailing in we were struck by the remarkable appearance of the flesh-coloured pinkish rocks, whose needle-shaped points rose up out of the water. We had, however, little time to notice them, ere rushing by we brought-up in the harbour of Peterhead. Most thankfully we dropped our anchor and furled our sails.Peterhead appeared to be a bustling place. A number of merchant vessels, coasters, and fishing-boats were at anchor. As the days were long, we hoped the gale would blow itself out before the next morning. Directly we had dined we set off on foot to visit a curious cavern called the “Bullers of Buchan.” After walking for about two hours we found ourselves on the top of a cliff, from whence we looked down into an immense cauldron some fifty feet in diameter, open at the bottom to the sea, which was rushing in, and whirling round and round in foaming masses. We went round it, between the cauldron and the sea, where the ledge, with the foaming whirlpool on one side and the perpendicular cliffs on the other, was sufficiently narrow to make us feel the necessity of keeping our eyes open. On the west side, or the furthest from the ocean, we observed that the water rushed under an arch. A person told us that in fine weather a boat could pass under this arch, though at present one would have been immediately dashed to pieces. The whole cliff was completely perforated by caverns. “Buller,” I should have said, means the “boiler.” Having watched it until our ears were wellnigh deafened by the roar, and our eyes dizzy from gazing at the seething whirlpool, we hastened on to get a sight of Slaines Castle, which we had seen from the sea. As we viewed it from a distance, the walls appeared to be a continuation of the cliff on the summit of which it stands. It is a large quadrangular building, without a tree in the neighbourhood. It had a somewhat gloomy aspect under the dark sky when we saw it. The property belonged, till lately, to the Earl of Errol, whose nearest neighbour to the eastward was, as Dick said, “Hamlet’s Ghost,” or the Castle of Elsinore, which stands on the shores of the Skagerack.We had spent a longer time in visiting the castle than we had intended, and had only got a short distance back when we were overtaken by the gloom of evening. The wind was blowing dead on shore, and a tremendous sea running. We were casting our eyes over the German Ocean, when we saw what we took to be a brig, with her mainmast gone, and several of her sails blown away, evidently steering for Peterhead. Unable to keep close to the wind, she was drifting every instant nearer and nearer the shore.“I fear she’ll not weather that point,” observed papa; “and if she comes on shore, there’ll be little chance for any of her people, as no lifeboat could get near her.”We had passed a Coastguard station a little way to the northward. Uncle Tom volunteered to hurry on, and I accompanied him—in casethe people there should not have observed the brig—to give them notice of the danger she was in; that, should she strike, they might be ready to render assistance with their rocket apparatus.It was now quite dark, and we had great difficulty in making our way; there was a risk of finding ourselves at the edge of some chasm, down which we might fall. The distance seemed very long, and I thought we must have missed the Coastguard station, which was situated at the edge of the cliffs. At length, however, we saw a light gleaming from a window, and arrived at the wall which enclosed the house where the lieutenant and his men lived. We found them on the alert. Two had just gone off for some horses to drag the waggon in which the rocket apparatus was to be carried, as one of the men stationed to the southward had seen the brig and reported her danger.In the waggon were already placed the rocket tube, with three rocket lines, several rockets, three spars to form a triangle, an anchor, lantern, spades, and pickaxes, some signal rockets, a rope ladder, and a sling life-buoy, with what are called “petticoat breeches” fastened to it, in which a person can be placed.There were also a strong hawser and a whip or fine rope, by which the sling life-buoy was to be drawn backwards and forwards from the wreck to the shore. By the time these were got into the waggon a couple of horses had arrived, and a party of men immediately set off with the waggon.The lieutenant conducted us back by the way we had come; as he knew every inch of the ground, we had no fear now of falling over the cliff. We had not gone far before we saw a rocket thrown up about a mile to the southward.“It is as I feared,” said the lieutenant; “the brig has gone ashore, and that rocket, fired by one of my men, shows the spot where she has struck. There is no time to lose, for in all probability she will not hold together long.”The signal made us hasten on even faster than before.“There she is! there she is!” cried the lieutenant, just as we reached the summit of a cliff.We could see the brig about a hundred fathoms off on the rocks, the sea making a fearful breach over her. There was light sufficient to enable us to see that the foremast was still standing.We found that papa and the rest of our party had arrived at the spot, and were watching her, but of course utterly unable to afford any assistance. It would have been a sad thing to watch her, had we not known that we should soon have the means of saving the poor people. Scarcely a minute had passed when a shout gave us notice that the waggon had arrived. We all instantly hurried to her to assist. While the men handled the heavier articles, we carried the lighter ones. Each man knew exactly what he was to do. The lines, I should have said, were in boxes, two of which were carried to the cliff; the tube was then fixed, and the line fastened to it. It was an anxious moment. Would the line pass over the vessel? would the crew be able to secure it? I could not help fearing that the rocket might strike the vessel, and perhaps kill some one on board; but the lieutenant took very good care to avoid that, by giving the tube sufficient elevation.“Now, lads, stand by!” he sang out.The men tilted the box in which the line was secured, so that it might run out freely. The officer now fired; and the rocket, rising in the air, made a grand curve of light, which we watched with intense interest until we saw it fall completely over the vessel. We had now to ascertain whether the men on board had secured it. No signal came, and of course we could not venture to haul in on the line, lest we might draw it back.“They probably have no blue light or gun on board, or any other means of making a signal,” observed the lieutenant.Scarcely, however, had he spoken, before a faint light from a lantern was shown in the rigging.“All right,” he exclaimed: “they have secured the line; make it fast to the warp.”Upon this, one of the Coastguards, going a short distance from the rest of us, exhibited a lantern with a red light, and presently we found that the whip—or double line—with a tailed block was being hauled off by the men on the wreck.We had now to wait again until once more the lantern was shown on board. This was a signal to the Coastguard to secure the end of the hawser to one part of the double line or whip, when all hands taking hold of the latter, we hauled off the hawser to the wreck. The tailed block had probably been secured to the mast; and as long as that held we had every hope of establishing a communication.If we felt anxious, how much more so must the poor fellows on the brig, which might at any moment be knocked to pieces, and they be sent struggling hopelessly in the foaming seas! We knew from the length of the whip that we must haul out the hawser almost to its end. Soon after we had done so another signal was made, which implied that the men had secured it round the mast. We then immediately hauled away on the hawser until we had got it stretched and secured to the anchor, which had been imbedded in the earth some way back from the cliff. It was necessary, however, not to get it too taut, as the vessel was moved by the seas, and might either break it, or tear the anchor out of the ground. This done, the “buoy with the breeches” was secured to a block, adjusted to the hawser, and was immediately hauled off.I should have said that a triangle, formed of three small spars, over which the hawser passed, was fixed in the ground nearest to the edge of the cliff; and now, to our infinite satisfaction, we had a perfect communication with the wreck. Still we had to watch for another signal, to give us notice that a person had been placed in it. Again the light appeared. We hauled away on the warp.“Handsomely, handsomely!” sung out the lieutenant, as the men were hauling in rather fast on the line.We eagerly watched; when at last through the gloom we saw the life-buoy appear, and discovered that a person was in it. With anxious haste the lieutenant and two of his men stepped forward, and grasping the buoy and its burden, gently lifted out the occupant.“My arm is broken, sir; take care, please.”We found that it was the mate of the vessel who spoke; he was the first sent on shore. We carried him up to the waggon, where he could be sheltered from the wind by the awning which covered it. While Uncle Tom remained with him, we hastened back to the cliff.By this time another person had arrived—a young boy—who was also somewhat hurt. He was almost fainting from pain and terror; his state was such that he could only utter the words, “Make haste! make haste!”There was good reason for this, for we could judge by the way the hawser was moved that the vessel was rolling more and more; and the men were compelled to slacken it out every now and then. It may be supposed no time was lost. Three men were now successfully brought on shore.We were going to carry the boy to the waggon, but he intreated to remain. The first of the men who arrived told us the reason. He was the captain’s son. The captain himself would not leave the vessel until the last. Two of their number had been washed overboard, the captain alone now remained. We could hear the boy crying out every now and then, “Make haste! make haste!”Once more the life-buoy was hauled off; every possible speed was made. I don’t think I ever before felt so intensely anxious; for I could sympathise with the poor boy whose father was still in fearful danger. Each moment it seemed as if the hawser would be carried away. Again the light was shown, and seemed to be advancing towards us. The Coastguard hauled away with all their might, helped by two of the rescued crew, while the lieutenant and the rest stood by ready to take hold of the captain. The light drew nearer and nearer. “Make haste! make haste!” again cried the boy. When at length he saw his father safe, in spite of his hurts, rising up from the ground, he rushed forward and threw his arms round his neck.Scarcely had the captain’s feet touched the ground than the hawser slackened, a loud rending sound was borne to our ears by the wind, and we knew that some huge billow had dashed the brig to pieces. Indeed, I fancied I saw fragments tossing about in the seething waves which dashed up against the cliffs.All felt that they had done their duty, and that the lives of their fellow-creatures had been saved by their promptitude, and the skill with which the operations had been carried out. The Coastguard men, having hauled in the hawser until the mast was brought close under the cliff, the rocket apparatus was returned to the waggon, in which also the mate and the captain’s son were placed, and we then all set off to the Coastguard station.The lieutenant invited us to remain at his cottage until the morning. We gladly accepted his offer; and his wife, who was a very nice person, treated us in the kindest manner, and produced a variety of garments, which we put on while our wet clothes were drying. Uncle Tom had a lady’s cloak over his shoulders. Dick was dressed in an old uniform coat, and papa got into a pea-jacket.The shipwrecked crew were looked after by the Coastguard men, and the lieutenant and his wife attended to the mate and the boy; while the master of the vessel had a room to himself, being completely knocked up, and as soon as he had had some supper went to bed, and happily was soon fast asleep.Papa and the lieutenant found that they had many mutual acquaintances, and they sat spinning yarns before the fire—for, although summer, a fire was very pleasant—until late in the night. The lieutenant described to us the gallant way in which the lifeboats of two neighbouring stations had gone out on several occasions to rescue the crews of vessels either on the rocks or sandbanks at the mouth of the Moray Firth.One hears but little of the wreck of coasters; but were it not for the assistance of lifeboats, in most instances the crews, consisting of three to six men, would be lost; as the vessels, being often old and rotten, quickly break up, and being low, the seas wash completely over them. Not long ago a boat was discovered by one of the Coastguard men on the beach; and on hurrying towards her, he found a poor fellow lying on the sand almost exhausted. On carrying him to a neighbouring fisherman’s cottage, he recovered; and he then stated that he belonged to a large barque which had gone on the sands; that he and twelve other men had taken to their boat, but that she had capsized, and that all hands, with the exception of himself, had been drowned; that he had swum on shore, though he could scarcely tell how he had managed to reach it. He said that there were four men still on board. On this the Coastguard men hastened to the nearest lifeboat station, when the boat was immediately manned and pushed off for the wreck, the position of which the seaman had described, though as it was night she could not be seen. Away the gallant crew pulled through tremendous seas, which were rolling in on the coast. Having gained an offing, they made sail, and steered for the wreck, which at length was discovered with two of her masts gone, while the crew were clinging to the rigging of the remaining mast, which threatened every instant to follow the others. The lifeboat, showing a light, indicated to the poor fellows on the wreck that help was near. After considerable difficulty they got up under her lee, and were able to heave a rope on board. Getting a stronger warp, they hauled up near enough to enable two of the men to jump on board. The third slipped, and fell into the water, running a fearful risk of being crushed; but, happily, he also was got into the boat. As is often the case, the cabin-boy was the last left. It was a trying thing to see the poor little fellow clinging to the rigging, but unable to help himself.“We can’t let him perish!” cried one of the lifeboat men; and at the risk of his own life, the boat being hauled up to the wreck, he sprang into the rigging, and with his knife cut the lashings by which the poor boy was held. A crashing sound was heard, the weather shrouds and stays were giving way. In another instant the mast would fall, and not only the gallant fellow and his charge, but all in the lifeboat, would perish.“Leap, man! leap!” shouted the crew, ready to shove off, and watching the tottering mast with anxious gaze; but even though they all knew the fearful risk they incurred by remaining, they would not desert their companion or the lad he had gone to save. The gallant boatman, seizing the boy in his arms, slid down the rigging and sprang from the chains into the boat, where he was caught by the outstretched arms of his companions. The next moment the boat was many fathoms from the wreck, when down came the mast on the very spot where she had been floating, the cap of her topmast almost striking her bow. Still the crew had a heavy struggle to reach the shore, for the gale came down with greater force than ever, and the hungry seas seemed ready to engulf her; but the shipwrecked men were landed in safety. Not until they met their companion did they learn that he and they were the sole survivors of the crew.The lieutenant told the tale so graphically that I have tried to put it down in his own words. He related many other similar anecdotes; and it was not until the night was far spent that we dropped off to sleep in our chairs.At daybreak, as the rain had ceased, and the wind had somewhat gone down, we started for Peterhead, papa promising to send a conveyance for the mate and the boy, that they might be carried to the hospital.Peterhead is a substantial-looking seaport town, the houses being mostly built of granite from quarries near. It stands on the south side of the mouth of the river Ugie, and has two harbours, one onthe north and the other on the south side of the peninsula. The latter, which is the oldest, was formed in the year 1773, from plans by Mr Smeaton, the great engineer of those days; and the north harbour in 1818, from those by Mr Telford. Piers run out from the shore, which is lined by fine quays.We had to wait the whole day before proceeding on our voyage, so we had time to see a great deal of the town, and something of the neighbourhood. We paid a visit to the hospital, and were glad to find that the poor mate and the captain’s son were going on very well.Next morning broke bright and beautiful, with a fine northerly breeze, which raised our spirits; and sailing out of the harbour, we stood towards Buchan Ness, on the summit of which stands a stone tower, with a light flashing from it at night, to show the approach to Peterhead. We sighted Slaines Castle, from which we steered a direct course for Aberdeen. About ten o’clock, the distance run being about thirty miles, we sighted the Girdlestone Lighthouse, on the southern side of the river Don, on which Aberdeen stands. Crossing the bar, we found ourselves in a wide bay. Several vessels and a number of boats were standing towards the spacious quays, backed by the fine granite-built houses of New Aberdeen.On landing, we noticed the massive appearance imparted to the houses by the granite of which they are composed.Our first visit was to Marischal College, the great seat of learning in the north, where Captain Dalgetty, that redoubted soldier of fortune, according to Scott, obtained his education. We went through the museum, library, and observatory, saw a good collection of paintings, and were especially struck by the handsome way in which the whole building is furnished.Hurrying on, however, to the old town, on the south bank of the Don, we visited the parish church of Old Machar, a grand and venerable building. The pillars in the transept have their capitals beautifully carved in oak. We then went to King’s College, a large quadrangular edifice, including the chapel, built of granite. The examination hall contains a collection of the portraits of the old Scottish kings and the early principals of the college,—a Bishop Elphinstone, the founder, being among them. We were amused by seeing the students, of whom there were between two and three hundred, walking about dressed in red gowns. They belong to all ranks of society, many labouring during the summer to obtain the means of educating themselves in the winter. We heard a pleasant anecdote of the late Duke of Gordon, who used to send out a carriage when he knew that the young men were on their way to college, in order to give them a lift for a stage or two. Many, we were told, had worked at the Caledonian Canal before thus arriving in the ducal carriage.We saw many evidences of the prosperity of Aberdeen; and while we lay in the harbour two or three steamers came in and out; one on its way to the islands of Orkney and Shetland, and others to Leith and the Thames. Our few hours at Aberdeen were among the most interesting we spent on shore during our voyage.Sailing again in the afternoon, with a fine northerly breeze, we passed the neat town of Stonehaven, about fifteen miles to the south, and soon afterwards the grand ruins of Dunnottar Castle, a large square tower rising from amid the ruins of other buildings on the very edge of the cliff. We could judge of its size by the extent of the remaining walls. It was here that the crown and sceptre of King Charles were kept during the Civil Wars. The castle was besieged, and the garrison was about to capitulate, when Mrs Ogilvie, the governor’s wife, put them in charge of Mrs Grainger, the wife of the minister of Kinneff, who had paid her a visit by permission of the Republican General Lambert. Mrs Ogilvie managed, with wonderful boldness, to smuggle out the crown, fastened under her cloak, while her servant hid the sceptre and sword in a bag of flax which she carried on her back. It was here, also, that many of the Covenanterswere imprisoned, and, according to an ancient chronicler, Wallace put to death four thousand Englishmen, who had fled for safety into the church. The approaching night hid the gloomy walls from our view.As we passed the towns of Montrose and Arbroath during the night, we saw nothing of them. The wind fell light when off the latter place, and then blew from the south-west, bringing up a thick fog, which shrouded the whole surface of the water. Papa being told of it, he went on deck, and Dick and I followed him; when he at once hauled the yacht on the wind, and stood off the coast. After running on for about an hour, the peculiar mournful sound of a bell reached us. As we stood on, it sounded every half-minute, louder and louder.“Where does that come from?” inquired Dick.“From the Bell Rock,” answered Truck. “If it wasn’t for the fog we should see a light from the tall tower which now stands on the rock, bright and red alternately. Once upon a time there was no tower there; but there was a bell fixed on a buoy, and as the waves beat against it, it tolled without ceasing; but I have heard say that there was a pirate, who used to cruise in those seas, who cut the bell off; but not long after, when making for Dundee, during a dark night and a heavy gale, he ran his ship on it, and was lost with all his men—a judgment on him for his evil deeds.”The wind dropping altogether, we lay becalmed, within the sound of the bell, until morning broke and the fog lifted, when we saw the tower just ahead of us. The centre part of the building was coloured white, and could scarcely be seen against the sky; but the lower part, which was dark, and the lantern, which was in shadow, were perfectly visible. We pulled towards it; and as we approached we saw the rocks on which the lighthouse stands rising ten feet or more above the water. Iron ladders were fixed for landing, and by a gun-metal ladder we were able to reach the entrance port. The head keeper came down and received us cordially. As in other lighthouses, the first story is used for storing coal; the second for water; the next for oil; and the next for bedrooms, with berths for six persons. Above it is the kitchen, and above that the sitting-room, in which we saw a bust of Stevenson, the engineer. The light is revolving, and has five reflectors, on each of which are two faces, one red and one white. The red colour is produced by chimneys of red glass. The keeper told us that four men belonged to the lighthouse, that they are all married, but that three only were on duty. As at the other lighthouses, birds are occasionally killed by flying against the glasses.Soon after we left the Bell Rock, the wind freshening from the southward, we stood on for Dundee, from which it is about five and twenty miles distant. We passed through the narrow entrance of the Firth of Tay, with Broughty Castle on our right, beyond which we came off Dundee, standing on the northern shore, and rising on a gentle declivity from the water’s edge, towards a high hill called the Law. The estuary here is nearly two miles wide. A number of vessels were at anchor, while the docks seen beyond the quays were full of shipping. Dundee has a handsome appearance, with its broad streets and fine stone houses. About the centre of the town, we passed what looked like one enormous church, with a lofty tower at the western end; but we found that it consisted of four parish churches, which are built side by side, so as to form one edifice.“I wish that all Christian communities could thus live in unity,” observed papa.These churches were, as may be supposed, all Presbyterian. There are several others in the town. We were told that there were nearly ninety schools in Dundee, at which upwards of four thousand children are educated. One of the most interesting places which claimed our attention was the Watt Institution, established in honour of James Watt, for the instruction of young men in science. There are also nearly forty mills for spinning flax, weaving linen, sail-cloth, sacking, and cordage. On the quay stands a handsome arch, built after a Flemish model. Besides the patent slip and graving dock,there are three wet docks and two tidal harbours, while other improvements are being carried on; so that Dundee is a most flourishing place.Not far off is Camperdown, once the residence of Lord Duncan, who called it after the famous victory he won over the Dutch; and a little distance further is Rossie Priory, belonging to the Kinnaird family.As we were anxious to look into Saint Andrews, we sailed again next morning, in the hope that the wind would continue in the north, or at all events that we should be able to beat down thus far. It is situated on the south shore of Saint Andrew’s Bay, some little way outside the entrance to the Firth of Tay. The wind favoured us more than we expected; and a pilot-boat showing us the way, we stood into the harbour, passing close under the peninsula on which the town stands. Above us were the ruins of the cathedral and the chapel of Saint Rule, who was supposed to have founded the place, with several other buildings. Saint Andrews presented a very quiet aspect, forming a great contrast to the bustling town of Dundee; but I must say it is a far more picturesque place. Of course we visited the university, the most ancient in Scotland. It consists of the colleges of Saint Salvator, Saint Leonard, and Saint Mary. There is also a school called the Madras College, founded by Dr Bell, the originator of the Madras system of education. By means of these colleges, at which an almost free education can be obtained, young Scotchmen without means are able to enjoy advantages which they could not do in England. The town is certainly more alive than it was when Dr Johnson visited it in the last century; he declared that one of the streets was lost, and that in those that remained there was “the silence and solitude of inactive indigence and gloomy depopulation.” We thought it a very picturesque-looking place, and should have remained there longer had the wind not changed and induced us to put to sea.Having passed round Fifeness, the eastern point of the peninsula, and opened the Isle of May lights—for there are two on the summitof the island—we stood across the Firth of Forth, intending to visit Edinburgh. The wind being light the whole night, we made no way.When morning broke, we were in sight of Fenton Law, which rose beyond North Berwick, and the Bass Rock, at no great distance off, standing high up above the blue sea. We passed close to it, and got a view of the almost inaccessible castle perched on its cliffs. It is now in ruins, but at one time was used as a state prison, in which several of the most distinguished Covenanters were confined. Wild flocks of sea-fowl rose above our heads from off the rock, and among others were numbers of gannets or Solan geese.As we had lost so much time, and had still the whole English coast to run down, papa and Uncle Tom, after a consultation, agreed to give up their visit to Edinburgh, and to continue their cruise across to the southward.

As we sailed down the Moray Firth with a northerly wind, which enabled us to stand close in shore, the water being perfectly smooth, we passed numerous headlands, the names of which we learned from the chart. After the mountainous scenery amid which we had been sailing, the shore looked flat and uninteresting.

I had thus plenty of time to attend to little Nat, who was fast becoming very dear to all of us. We looked forward with regret to the time when he might be sent away to join his friends, should they be found. He had learned to walk the deck in true nautical style; and in his sailor’s suit, with his broad-brimmed straw hat, he looked every inch a young seaman. He was generally in capital spirits, apparently forgetting his loss; but if any allusion brought back to his remembrance his father, mother, or Aunt Fanny, his brothers and sisters, the tears sprang to his eyes, and he looked grave and sad.

Happily, however, a cheerful word brought him back to his usual mood, and he became as merry as ever.

“Do you know, Harry,” he said to me one day, “I intend to be a sailor. I should like to have just such a vessel as this, and cruise about the world that you tell me is round, though I cannot make it out; still, as you say so, I am sure it is.”

I pointed to the top-gallant sails of a vessel on which the sun was shining brightly,—“Now, watch that sail, and in a short time you will see her topsails, and then her courses, and then the hull. If the world was not round, we should see them all at once, just as clearly as we now see the top-gallant sails.”

As I spoke I took up a large ball of spun yarn, and placing a splinter on it, I advanced the piece of wood gradually until he saw the whole of it. “Now, this splinter represents that ship,” I said, pointing to it. “As we also are moving towards her, we shall soon see all her sails and her hull.”

Nat kept watching the ship with intense interest; and although summoned to luncheon, he begged that he might have something brought up to him, so that he could watch her hull come in sight. This in a short time happened, when he clapped his hands and shouted—

“Now I know that the world is round; but I thought it was so very big it could make no difference.”

“Well,” exclaimed Dick, who had been listening to my remark, “I never knew before how it was people guessed that the world was round. I saw ships’ sails popping up out of the ocean, but had not any idea how it was, and did not like to ask.”

“There you showed your want of wisdom,” observed papa; “you should have tried to think the matter out, or inquired.”

The wind continued to favour us, drawing gradually to the westward. We sighted a red light on Kinnaird’s Head, which, as we got more to the eastward, changed to a bright colour. Beyond it was Fraserburgh. By hauling our wind we were able to steer for Rathay Head. Near it we caught sight of Inverugie Castle. We gave a wide berth to the head, from which a dangerous reef of rocks run out; for though the ocean was tolerably calm, we could see the water breaking over them.

We were now hoping, as the wind was off shore, to stand due south for Aberdeen, which we were all anxious to see. We had sighted Slaines Castle, standing out solitary and grand on the very edge of the crag, when the wind suddenly backed round to the southward, and in a short time began to blow very hard. Dark clouds, which had been gathering thickly in the horizon to the south-east, came careering on over the blue sky. In spite of the heavy sea which was getting up, we held our course, standing away from the land, intending to tack again when we could to fetch Aberdeen. By the way the Dolphin was tumbling about I could readily understand how we must have appeared to her. Dick began to show signs of being far from happy, and Nat’s cheerfulness entirely left him. Papa sent him down below, and told him to turn in. Dick, however, braved it out, but grew more and more yellow and woebegone.

“This won’t do,” observed papa; “it’s fortunate that we have a port under our lee. Up helm, ease away the main sheet. We’ll let the Dolphin know that we are running for Peterhead.”

The Dolphin followed our example; and away we went, careering on before the fast-rising seas. Very glad we were that we had so fine a harbour to run for. The gale blew harder and harder, and the waves looked as if every instant they would engulf us; for we were now exposed to the whole roll of the German Ocean. On sailing in we were struck by the remarkable appearance of the flesh-coloured pinkish rocks, whose needle-shaped points rose up out of the water. We had, however, little time to notice them, ere rushing by we brought-up in the harbour of Peterhead. Most thankfully we dropped our anchor and furled our sails.

Peterhead appeared to be a bustling place. A number of merchant vessels, coasters, and fishing-boats were at anchor. As the days were long, we hoped the gale would blow itself out before the next morning. Directly we had dined we set off on foot to visit a curious cavern called the “Bullers of Buchan.” After walking for about two hours we found ourselves on the top of a cliff, from whence we looked down into an immense cauldron some fifty feet in diameter, open at the bottom to the sea, which was rushing in, and whirling round and round in foaming masses. We went round it, between the cauldron and the sea, where the ledge, with the foaming whirlpool on one side and the perpendicular cliffs on the other, was sufficiently narrow to make us feel the necessity of keeping our eyes open. On the west side, or the furthest from the ocean, we observed that the water rushed under an arch. A person told us that in fine weather a boat could pass under this arch, though at present one would have been immediately dashed to pieces. The whole cliff was completely perforated by caverns. “Buller,” I should have said, means the “boiler.” Having watched it until our ears were wellnigh deafened by the roar, and our eyes dizzy from gazing at the seething whirlpool, we hastened on to get a sight of Slaines Castle, which we had seen from the sea. As we viewed it from a distance, the walls appeared to be a continuation of the cliff on the summit of which it stands. It is a large quadrangular building, without a tree in the neighbourhood. It had a somewhat gloomy aspect under the dark sky when we saw it. The property belonged, till lately, to the Earl of Errol, whose nearest neighbour to the eastward was, as Dick said, “Hamlet’s Ghost,” or the Castle of Elsinore, which stands on the shores of the Skagerack.

We had spent a longer time in visiting the castle than we had intended, and had only got a short distance back when we were overtaken by the gloom of evening. The wind was blowing dead on shore, and a tremendous sea running. We were casting our eyes over the German Ocean, when we saw what we took to be a brig, with her mainmast gone, and several of her sails blown away, evidently steering for Peterhead. Unable to keep close to the wind, she was drifting every instant nearer and nearer the shore.

“I fear she’ll not weather that point,” observed papa; “and if she comes on shore, there’ll be little chance for any of her people, as no lifeboat could get near her.”

We had passed a Coastguard station a little way to the northward. Uncle Tom volunteered to hurry on, and I accompanied him—in casethe people there should not have observed the brig—to give them notice of the danger she was in; that, should she strike, they might be ready to render assistance with their rocket apparatus.

It was now quite dark, and we had great difficulty in making our way; there was a risk of finding ourselves at the edge of some chasm, down which we might fall. The distance seemed very long, and I thought we must have missed the Coastguard station, which was situated at the edge of the cliffs. At length, however, we saw a light gleaming from a window, and arrived at the wall which enclosed the house where the lieutenant and his men lived. We found them on the alert. Two had just gone off for some horses to drag the waggon in which the rocket apparatus was to be carried, as one of the men stationed to the southward had seen the brig and reported her danger.

In the waggon were already placed the rocket tube, with three rocket lines, several rockets, three spars to form a triangle, an anchor, lantern, spades, and pickaxes, some signal rockets, a rope ladder, and a sling life-buoy, with what are called “petticoat breeches” fastened to it, in which a person can be placed.

There were also a strong hawser and a whip or fine rope, by which the sling life-buoy was to be drawn backwards and forwards from the wreck to the shore. By the time these were got into the waggon a couple of horses had arrived, and a party of men immediately set off with the waggon.

The lieutenant conducted us back by the way we had come; as he knew every inch of the ground, we had no fear now of falling over the cliff. We had not gone far before we saw a rocket thrown up about a mile to the southward.

“It is as I feared,” said the lieutenant; “the brig has gone ashore, and that rocket, fired by one of my men, shows the spot where she has struck. There is no time to lose, for in all probability she will not hold together long.”

The signal made us hasten on even faster than before.

“There she is! there she is!” cried the lieutenant, just as we reached the summit of a cliff.

We could see the brig about a hundred fathoms off on the rocks, the sea making a fearful breach over her. There was light sufficient to enable us to see that the foremast was still standing.

We found that papa and the rest of our party had arrived at the spot, and were watching her, but of course utterly unable to afford any assistance. It would have been a sad thing to watch her, had we not known that we should soon have the means of saving the poor people. Scarcely a minute had passed when a shout gave us notice that the waggon had arrived. We all instantly hurried to her to assist. While the men handled the heavier articles, we carried the lighter ones. Each man knew exactly what he was to do. The lines, I should have said, were in boxes, two of which were carried to the cliff; the tube was then fixed, and the line fastened to it. It was an anxious moment. Would the line pass over the vessel? would the crew be able to secure it? I could not help fearing that the rocket might strike the vessel, and perhaps kill some one on board; but the lieutenant took very good care to avoid that, by giving the tube sufficient elevation.

“Now, lads, stand by!” he sang out.

The men tilted the box in which the line was secured, so that it might run out freely. The officer now fired; and the rocket, rising in the air, made a grand curve of light, which we watched with intense interest until we saw it fall completely over the vessel. We had now to ascertain whether the men on board had secured it. No signal came, and of course we could not venture to haul in on the line, lest we might draw it back.

“They probably have no blue light or gun on board, or any other means of making a signal,” observed the lieutenant.

Scarcely, however, had he spoken, before a faint light from a lantern was shown in the rigging.

“All right,” he exclaimed: “they have secured the line; make it fast to the warp.”

Upon this, one of the Coastguards, going a short distance from the rest of us, exhibited a lantern with a red light, and presently we found that the whip—or double line—with a tailed block was being hauled off by the men on the wreck.

We had now to wait again until once more the lantern was shown on board. This was a signal to the Coastguard to secure the end of the hawser to one part of the double line or whip, when all hands taking hold of the latter, we hauled off the hawser to the wreck. The tailed block had probably been secured to the mast; and as long as that held we had every hope of establishing a communication.

If we felt anxious, how much more so must the poor fellows on the brig, which might at any moment be knocked to pieces, and they be sent struggling hopelessly in the foaming seas! We knew from the length of the whip that we must haul out the hawser almost to its end. Soon after we had done so another signal was made, which implied that the men had secured it round the mast. We then immediately hauled away on the hawser until we had got it stretched and secured to the anchor, which had been imbedded in the earth some way back from the cliff. It was necessary, however, not to get it too taut, as the vessel was moved by the seas, and might either break it, or tear the anchor out of the ground. This done, the “buoy with the breeches” was secured to a block, adjusted to the hawser, and was immediately hauled off.

I should have said that a triangle, formed of three small spars, over which the hawser passed, was fixed in the ground nearest to the edge of the cliff; and now, to our infinite satisfaction, we had a perfect communication with the wreck. Still we had to watch for another signal, to give us notice that a person had been placed in it. Again the light appeared. We hauled away on the warp.

“Handsomely, handsomely!” sung out the lieutenant, as the men were hauling in rather fast on the line.

We eagerly watched; when at last through the gloom we saw the life-buoy appear, and discovered that a person was in it. With anxious haste the lieutenant and two of his men stepped forward, and grasping the buoy and its burden, gently lifted out the occupant.

“My arm is broken, sir; take care, please.”

We found that it was the mate of the vessel who spoke; he was the first sent on shore. We carried him up to the waggon, where he could be sheltered from the wind by the awning which covered it. While Uncle Tom remained with him, we hastened back to the cliff.

By this time another person had arrived—a young boy—who was also somewhat hurt. He was almost fainting from pain and terror; his state was such that he could only utter the words, “Make haste! make haste!”

There was good reason for this, for we could judge by the way the hawser was moved that the vessel was rolling more and more; and the men were compelled to slacken it out every now and then. It may be supposed no time was lost. Three men were now successfully brought on shore.

We were going to carry the boy to the waggon, but he intreated to remain. The first of the men who arrived told us the reason. He was the captain’s son. The captain himself would not leave the vessel until the last. Two of their number had been washed overboard, the captain alone now remained. We could hear the boy crying out every now and then, “Make haste! make haste!”

Once more the life-buoy was hauled off; every possible speed was made. I don’t think I ever before felt so intensely anxious; for I could sympathise with the poor boy whose father was still in fearful danger. Each moment it seemed as if the hawser would be carried away. Again the light was shown, and seemed to be advancing towards us. The Coastguard hauled away with all their might, helped by two of the rescued crew, while the lieutenant and the rest stood by ready to take hold of the captain. The light drew nearer and nearer. “Make haste! make haste!” again cried the boy. When at length he saw his father safe, in spite of his hurts, rising up from the ground, he rushed forward and threw his arms round his neck.

Scarcely had the captain’s feet touched the ground than the hawser slackened, a loud rending sound was borne to our ears by the wind, and we knew that some huge billow had dashed the brig to pieces. Indeed, I fancied I saw fragments tossing about in the seething waves which dashed up against the cliffs.

All felt that they had done their duty, and that the lives of their fellow-creatures had been saved by their promptitude, and the skill with which the operations had been carried out. The Coastguard men, having hauled in the hawser until the mast was brought close under the cliff, the rocket apparatus was returned to the waggon, in which also the mate and the captain’s son were placed, and we then all set off to the Coastguard station.

The lieutenant invited us to remain at his cottage until the morning. We gladly accepted his offer; and his wife, who was a very nice person, treated us in the kindest manner, and produced a variety of garments, which we put on while our wet clothes were drying. Uncle Tom had a lady’s cloak over his shoulders. Dick was dressed in an old uniform coat, and papa got into a pea-jacket.

The shipwrecked crew were looked after by the Coastguard men, and the lieutenant and his wife attended to the mate and the boy; while the master of the vessel had a room to himself, being completely knocked up, and as soon as he had had some supper went to bed, and happily was soon fast asleep.

Papa and the lieutenant found that they had many mutual acquaintances, and they sat spinning yarns before the fire—for, although summer, a fire was very pleasant—until late in the night. The lieutenant described to us the gallant way in which the lifeboats of two neighbouring stations had gone out on several occasions to rescue the crews of vessels either on the rocks or sandbanks at the mouth of the Moray Firth.

One hears but little of the wreck of coasters; but were it not for the assistance of lifeboats, in most instances the crews, consisting of three to six men, would be lost; as the vessels, being often old and rotten, quickly break up, and being low, the seas wash completely over them. Not long ago a boat was discovered by one of the Coastguard men on the beach; and on hurrying towards her, he found a poor fellow lying on the sand almost exhausted. On carrying him to a neighbouring fisherman’s cottage, he recovered; and he then stated that he belonged to a large barque which had gone on the sands; that he and twelve other men had taken to their boat, but that she had capsized, and that all hands, with the exception of himself, had been drowned; that he had swum on shore, though he could scarcely tell how he had managed to reach it. He said that there were four men still on board. On this the Coastguard men hastened to the nearest lifeboat station, when the boat was immediately manned and pushed off for the wreck, the position of which the seaman had described, though as it was night she could not be seen. Away the gallant crew pulled through tremendous seas, which were rolling in on the coast. Having gained an offing, they made sail, and steered for the wreck, which at length was discovered with two of her masts gone, while the crew were clinging to the rigging of the remaining mast, which threatened every instant to follow the others. The lifeboat, showing a light, indicated to the poor fellows on the wreck that help was near. After considerable difficulty they got up under her lee, and were able to heave a rope on board. Getting a stronger warp, they hauled up near enough to enable two of the men to jump on board. The third slipped, and fell into the water, running a fearful risk of being crushed; but, happily, he also was got into the boat. As is often the case, the cabin-boy was the last left. It was a trying thing to see the poor little fellow clinging to the rigging, but unable to help himself.

“We can’t let him perish!” cried one of the lifeboat men; and at the risk of his own life, the boat being hauled up to the wreck, he sprang into the rigging, and with his knife cut the lashings by which the poor boy was held. A crashing sound was heard, the weather shrouds and stays were giving way. In another instant the mast would fall, and not only the gallant fellow and his charge, but all in the lifeboat, would perish.

“Leap, man! leap!” shouted the crew, ready to shove off, and watching the tottering mast with anxious gaze; but even though they all knew the fearful risk they incurred by remaining, they would not desert their companion or the lad he had gone to save. The gallant boatman, seizing the boy in his arms, slid down the rigging and sprang from the chains into the boat, where he was caught by the outstretched arms of his companions. The next moment the boat was many fathoms from the wreck, when down came the mast on the very spot where she had been floating, the cap of her topmast almost striking her bow. Still the crew had a heavy struggle to reach the shore, for the gale came down with greater force than ever, and the hungry seas seemed ready to engulf her; but the shipwrecked men were landed in safety. Not until they met their companion did they learn that he and they were the sole survivors of the crew.

The lieutenant told the tale so graphically that I have tried to put it down in his own words. He related many other similar anecdotes; and it was not until the night was far spent that we dropped off to sleep in our chairs.

At daybreak, as the rain had ceased, and the wind had somewhat gone down, we started for Peterhead, papa promising to send a conveyance for the mate and the boy, that they might be carried to the hospital.

Peterhead is a substantial-looking seaport town, the houses being mostly built of granite from quarries near. It stands on the south side of the mouth of the river Ugie, and has two harbours, one onthe north and the other on the south side of the peninsula. The latter, which is the oldest, was formed in the year 1773, from plans by Mr Smeaton, the great engineer of those days; and the north harbour in 1818, from those by Mr Telford. Piers run out from the shore, which is lined by fine quays.

We had to wait the whole day before proceeding on our voyage, so we had time to see a great deal of the town, and something of the neighbourhood. We paid a visit to the hospital, and were glad to find that the poor mate and the captain’s son were going on very well.

Next morning broke bright and beautiful, with a fine northerly breeze, which raised our spirits; and sailing out of the harbour, we stood towards Buchan Ness, on the summit of which stands a stone tower, with a light flashing from it at night, to show the approach to Peterhead. We sighted Slaines Castle, from which we steered a direct course for Aberdeen. About ten o’clock, the distance run being about thirty miles, we sighted the Girdlestone Lighthouse, on the southern side of the river Don, on which Aberdeen stands. Crossing the bar, we found ourselves in a wide bay. Several vessels and a number of boats were standing towards the spacious quays, backed by the fine granite-built houses of New Aberdeen.

On landing, we noticed the massive appearance imparted to the houses by the granite of which they are composed.

Our first visit was to Marischal College, the great seat of learning in the north, where Captain Dalgetty, that redoubted soldier of fortune, according to Scott, obtained his education. We went through the museum, library, and observatory, saw a good collection of paintings, and were especially struck by the handsome way in which the whole building is furnished.

Hurrying on, however, to the old town, on the south bank of the Don, we visited the parish church of Old Machar, a grand and venerable building. The pillars in the transept have their capitals beautifully carved in oak. We then went to King’s College, a large quadrangular edifice, including the chapel, built of granite. The examination hall contains a collection of the portraits of the old Scottish kings and the early principals of the college,—a Bishop Elphinstone, the founder, being among them. We were amused by seeing the students, of whom there were between two and three hundred, walking about dressed in red gowns. They belong to all ranks of society, many labouring during the summer to obtain the means of educating themselves in the winter. We heard a pleasant anecdote of the late Duke of Gordon, who used to send out a carriage when he knew that the young men were on their way to college, in order to give them a lift for a stage or two. Many, we were told, had worked at the Caledonian Canal before thus arriving in the ducal carriage.

We saw many evidences of the prosperity of Aberdeen; and while we lay in the harbour two or three steamers came in and out; one on its way to the islands of Orkney and Shetland, and others to Leith and the Thames. Our few hours at Aberdeen were among the most interesting we spent on shore during our voyage.

Sailing again in the afternoon, with a fine northerly breeze, we passed the neat town of Stonehaven, about fifteen miles to the south, and soon afterwards the grand ruins of Dunnottar Castle, a large square tower rising from amid the ruins of other buildings on the very edge of the cliff. We could judge of its size by the extent of the remaining walls. It was here that the crown and sceptre of King Charles were kept during the Civil Wars. The castle was besieged, and the garrison was about to capitulate, when Mrs Ogilvie, the governor’s wife, put them in charge of Mrs Grainger, the wife of the minister of Kinneff, who had paid her a visit by permission of the Republican General Lambert. Mrs Ogilvie managed, with wonderful boldness, to smuggle out the crown, fastened under her cloak, while her servant hid the sceptre and sword in a bag of flax which she carried on her back. It was here, also, that many of the Covenanterswere imprisoned, and, according to an ancient chronicler, Wallace put to death four thousand Englishmen, who had fled for safety into the church. The approaching night hid the gloomy walls from our view.

As we passed the towns of Montrose and Arbroath during the night, we saw nothing of them. The wind fell light when off the latter place, and then blew from the south-west, bringing up a thick fog, which shrouded the whole surface of the water. Papa being told of it, he went on deck, and Dick and I followed him; when he at once hauled the yacht on the wind, and stood off the coast. After running on for about an hour, the peculiar mournful sound of a bell reached us. As we stood on, it sounded every half-minute, louder and louder.

“Where does that come from?” inquired Dick.

“From the Bell Rock,” answered Truck. “If it wasn’t for the fog we should see a light from the tall tower which now stands on the rock, bright and red alternately. Once upon a time there was no tower there; but there was a bell fixed on a buoy, and as the waves beat against it, it tolled without ceasing; but I have heard say that there was a pirate, who used to cruise in those seas, who cut the bell off; but not long after, when making for Dundee, during a dark night and a heavy gale, he ran his ship on it, and was lost with all his men—a judgment on him for his evil deeds.”

The wind dropping altogether, we lay becalmed, within the sound of the bell, until morning broke and the fog lifted, when we saw the tower just ahead of us. The centre part of the building was coloured white, and could scarcely be seen against the sky; but the lower part, which was dark, and the lantern, which was in shadow, were perfectly visible. We pulled towards it; and as we approached we saw the rocks on which the lighthouse stands rising ten feet or more above the water. Iron ladders were fixed for landing, and by a gun-metal ladder we were able to reach the entrance port. The head keeper came down and received us cordially. As in other lighthouses, the first story is used for storing coal; the second for water; the next for oil; and the next for bedrooms, with berths for six persons. Above it is the kitchen, and above that the sitting-room, in which we saw a bust of Stevenson, the engineer. The light is revolving, and has five reflectors, on each of which are two faces, one red and one white. The red colour is produced by chimneys of red glass. The keeper told us that four men belonged to the lighthouse, that they are all married, but that three only were on duty. As at the other lighthouses, birds are occasionally killed by flying against the glasses.

Soon after we left the Bell Rock, the wind freshening from the southward, we stood on for Dundee, from which it is about five and twenty miles distant. We passed through the narrow entrance of the Firth of Tay, with Broughty Castle on our right, beyond which we came off Dundee, standing on the northern shore, and rising on a gentle declivity from the water’s edge, towards a high hill called the Law. The estuary here is nearly two miles wide. A number of vessels were at anchor, while the docks seen beyond the quays were full of shipping. Dundee has a handsome appearance, with its broad streets and fine stone houses. About the centre of the town, we passed what looked like one enormous church, with a lofty tower at the western end; but we found that it consisted of four parish churches, which are built side by side, so as to form one edifice.

“I wish that all Christian communities could thus live in unity,” observed papa.

These churches were, as may be supposed, all Presbyterian. There are several others in the town. We were told that there were nearly ninety schools in Dundee, at which upwards of four thousand children are educated. One of the most interesting places which claimed our attention was the Watt Institution, established in honour of James Watt, for the instruction of young men in science. There are also nearly forty mills for spinning flax, weaving linen, sail-cloth, sacking, and cordage. On the quay stands a handsome arch, built after a Flemish model. Besides the patent slip and graving dock,there are three wet docks and two tidal harbours, while other improvements are being carried on; so that Dundee is a most flourishing place.

Not far off is Camperdown, once the residence of Lord Duncan, who called it after the famous victory he won over the Dutch; and a little distance further is Rossie Priory, belonging to the Kinnaird family.

As we were anxious to look into Saint Andrews, we sailed again next morning, in the hope that the wind would continue in the north, or at all events that we should be able to beat down thus far. It is situated on the south shore of Saint Andrew’s Bay, some little way outside the entrance to the Firth of Tay. The wind favoured us more than we expected; and a pilot-boat showing us the way, we stood into the harbour, passing close under the peninsula on which the town stands. Above us were the ruins of the cathedral and the chapel of Saint Rule, who was supposed to have founded the place, with several other buildings. Saint Andrews presented a very quiet aspect, forming a great contrast to the bustling town of Dundee; but I must say it is a far more picturesque place. Of course we visited the university, the most ancient in Scotland. It consists of the colleges of Saint Salvator, Saint Leonard, and Saint Mary. There is also a school called the Madras College, founded by Dr Bell, the originator of the Madras system of education. By means of these colleges, at which an almost free education can be obtained, young Scotchmen without means are able to enjoy advantages which they could not do in England. The town is certainly more alive than it was when Dr Johnson visited it in the last century; he declared that one of the streets was lost, and that in those that remained there was “the silence and solitude of inactive indigence and gloomy depopulation.” We thought it a very picturesque-looking place, and should have remained there longer had the wind not changed and induced us to put to sea.

Having passed round Fifeness, the eastern point of the peninsula, and opened the Isle of May lights—for there are two on the summitof the island—we stood across the Firth of Forth, intending to visit Edinburgh. The wind being light the whole night, we made no way.

When morning broke, we were in sight of Fenton Law, which rose beyond North Berwick, and the Bass Rock, at no great distance off, standing high up above the blue sea. We passed close to it, and got a view of the almost inaccessible castle perched on its cliffs. It is now in ruins, but at one time was used as a state prison, in which several of the most distinguished Covenanters were confined. Wild flocks of sea-fowl rose above our heads from off the rock, and among others were numbers of gannets or Solan geese.

As we had lost so much time, and had still the whole English coast to run down, papa and Uncle Tom, after a consultation, agreed to give up their visit to Edinburgh, and to continue their cruise across to the southward.

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